I plant seeds in the garden, and then spend the next several days anxiously walking up and down the rows, looking for signs of life.

I am watching for seedlings, but I’m not watching for seedlings, because—as Tolkien observed through his created people, the Elves—the eyes of mankind is always “thinking of something else” , and that “they look at no thing for itself; that if they study it, it is to discover something else […] because it reminds them of some other clearer thing”*; because of the truth of Romans 1:20. I am wandering the garden path, and my mind wanders with it.

We went for a walk yesterday through the orchard. It’s hard to call it that–it still looks like a motley collection of twigs stuck in the ground. It doesn’t quite have the feel of a real, mature, fruit-bearing orchard; though it will, of course, become that with care and time.

Our oldest, Ephraim, is about to turn five, and it wasn’t very long after he was born that I felt a tug on my heart that I wasn’t sure what to do with.

We attend a church with a children’s program run by devoted, loving church members who prioritize the spiritual health and wellbeing of the kids in our congregation. And yet I was feeling very strongly that our kids needed to stay in church with us.

As a baby, Ephraim was a bit of a loner, protesting displays of affection and usually quite content to be playing on his own.

When Clive came, I was frequently perplexed by his moments of restlessness; how he would fuss and fuss when, for all I could see, he was perfectly fine: fed, rested, warm, comfortable. I can still remember the day when I realized he was restless because he wanted me. I hadn’t had a baby like that yet, and as an infant I carried the same preferences that Ephraim did, so my ignorance was understandable, though still humiliating.

It seems that every time we play outside, Clive is restless and dissatisfied with the activities presented (unless there is water available.) He almost always comes to land in a lap, finally content.

Spiritually, I am trying to learn to be like Clive. There are many times throughout the days, the weeks, that I am dissatisfied and restless for what seems like no reason. If only I could learn to seek out my Father, to be still with Him.

These are old pictures. As I mentioned before, my only editing computer is in the (unfinished) basement–which means the kids can’t go down there–which also means that I can only edit before they wake up in the morning, while they’re napping, or after they’ve gone to bed for the night.

It makes things a little difficult.

It’s why I’m not booking anymore sessions for this year, though it’s Christmas Card Season–I’ve only so much time to devote to pictures, and I want to make sure the sessions that are already booked don’t suffer from my overextending myself. A quick turnaround time on galleries is something I take pride in, and I don’t want to compromise that.

I’ve been thinking a lot about excellence–our call to it, our striving for it, our grace for when we miss the mark. When you say “no” to something you know you can’t do with excellence, is that wisdom or perfectionism? How does striving for excellence differ from clamoring for perfection? Are they different?

I have answers in my head; I’m just not posting them now.

Anyway, the pictures: one of Ephraim’s favorite pastimes is to “play tools”. He doesn’t really accomplish anything in adult terms, but for a three-year-old he is doing the very best he can do in the very best way he can do it. “This is Ephraim’s work,” he tells me proudly. And he does it well.

Follow Us

Some nesting periods start rather mildly, with the washing of baby clothes and assembling of cribs. Others are a little more forceful, with packing up your bedroom and your nursery and informing your husband that